The Bridge

The Bridge

Was there ever a time when a bridge demanded first to be crossed only from the opposite side?

A curious notion to the weary traveler wishing to pass over the gap presented in one's journey? Fancy a warning sign... 'Beware! Passers may cross only from the opposing direction!' A small revelation, no doubt. And what might be the consequences should one choose to ignore the warning?

And there we have it, a bridge. Hmmm... Let's make it a suspension bridge. Crafted of the finest hemp, decades .. no, centuries ago. The ancient wooden planks dot the length of the expanse; some rotted boards long replaced many times, others simply, long gone. Each step a dangerous undertaking on this short crossing. A perilous flight across a relatively narrow, gap.

On the crosser's side, home, sanctity, responsibility, and respect. On the other, new lands and adventures? Paths that may lead to nowhere, or paths that lead to new awareness and spirituality? Trails that lead to glorious sunrises and awakenings, trails leading to a future full of love and true belonging. Perhaps a road well trod that circles round to the opposite side of the bridge, beckoning the quasi traveler to cross back to home, home where he belongs.

The bridge is long and lean. The ropes are frayed, well worn and thin. Is this journey that important? Below the bridge… let’s see… lava? A roaring river? Quicksand? The bed of the canyon is so far below, one can only guess what element the thin grey line drawn smoothly, almost centered, contains. What does it matter? If one’s fate were to plunge, death would be instantaneous even if the bed were laid of feathers and dreams.

Over the crevasse, beyond the hills into uncharted wonders the already weary traveler longs to explore. A journey merely beginning, beginning...

at the foot of the bridge.